Ghost Luna

Blood was smeared up the walls, seeping into crevesases and holes, slowly dripping with a light trickle to the pavement slabs below. It oozed, flowing into the cracks of the stones, creating an almost mirrorored surface which reflected the full moon in its ruby red sheen. More chaotic strokes, almost like a painters brush, decorated the edges of the pool with aggressive certainty. The crowd had gathered around the police tape, flahes of light illuminating the gruesome scene. The chatter and hushed voices swirled in the chaos of the nudging and bumping of elbows to peer closer had always unsettled Lane. She found it distracting. Disrespecful. At least it made her job, in comparision, seem more humane. She lifted her heavy camera to photograph the section marked with a no.1 before dutifully following the numbers in their assigned assenction. Lane always tried to NOT focus on the scene through tje clarity of her camera lense. Breaking up a scene like this was always best. Taking it all in was too much. Click. Click. Click. Each wall and splatter was committed to evidence one shot at a time. These may help catch the criminal in a later trial or reveal a clue to who committed this atrosity. Click. Click. Click. Lane had finished the blood splatter, the objects surrounding the scene. She closed her eyes and took a deep breathe. She had already seen it. It had been there the whole time at the corner of her eye. But she hadn't seen it. Opening her eyes she reajusted her cameras settings for a longer distance. Humming quietly, her fingers fumbled over the settings. Raising her head high she took aim. Drapped over the lamp post were the remains of a person, slashed and gashed, torn in two. Male or female? It would have been difficult to tell without the zoom. The esblishing shot was taken. Then the business of choosing the remaining angles and details to document. Lane stayed away from the eery glassy eyes and focused instead on the cloths and personal affects and any other...markings of significance. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. The shutter speed seemed almost inhumane in its effeciency. Lane was in a hurry. She was close to her limit. Suit. Rolex. Size 11 brouges. Tailored. Male. Tattos. Muscular. Click. Click. Click.Click. Click. Derrick... ... Click. Derick had been a sucessful man. Into fitness and strength. Derick had died fighting. Click. The body began to jerk and twitch. The ravaged tears and claw marks stitched themselves back together and lifted themselves off the pole. His face lifted and those glassy eyes stared directly down her lense. Closing her eyes and slaming the cover back over the lense, Lane took a deep breath. This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real. Even with her eyes closed, her world swirled. Images of Derick tried the penetrate the slice of the darkness she had created. Holding her ground she squeezed her eyes tighter and cleared her mind. I'm not mad. If this were real there would be evidence on my camera. Lane stared directly at her feet. Her hands trembled at she turned on the display screen to view her handiwork. Blood. Blood. More blood. The mutilated body and his ragged face. Nothing more. Tears filled her eyes. Lane turned, hurried past her colleuges, ducked under the police tape and ran round the nearest corner and hurled her guts up.